The Green Dress
by Blackened-Downpour
Summary: One-Shot. It's years after the Final Battle and Hermione's still dealing with her grief. When she runs into that arrogant blond of her past, she attempts a relationship despite her ghosts. Although she is skeptic she can move on. Draco/Hermione


**I wrote this piece for my sister. It's her birthday today and she can officially  
call herself a teenager. So this is dedicated to her.  
Love you, sis. Happy Birthday. **

Summary: After the Final Battle, Hermione struck out on her own, hoping to rid herself of everything that reminded her of Ron. Years later, she runs into that arrogant blond of her adolescence. He watches her inner battle and she resolves that, despite the odds, she will make it work.

* * *

**The Green Dress**

Ron had long been dead and gone. The pain was still there, swirling beneath the surface, but it was not as acute as it had been at the time, or even a year ago. Hermione walked along the curving sidewalk, humming a melancholy tune under her breath.

It had been five years since the death of her Ron. Bellatrix had snuck up behind her while she was busy dueling with a masked deatheater. Completely unaware of her pending doom, Hermione valiantly defended herself. Ron, not knowing what else to do, threw himself in the killing curse's path and rescued her from death. Hermione, entirely entranced with finishing off the faceless deatheater, had not heard Ron's last scream of "Hermione!"

Hours later, after the battle was won and deatheaters were taken away, she stumbled across his body. She stood towering above his pale form trembling, not uttering a sound. Then with a sudden, wrenching sob, she threw herself on him.

Professor McGonagall found the heartbroken young woman half an hour later. She had yet to run out of tears and Minerva knew she would not for some time. She cautiously approached Hermione, who was sobbing uncontrollably and spewing intelligible words of grief.

"Child," Minerva said, gently wrapping an arm around her. "Hermione, come, you need to be examined for wounds."

Hermione moaned piteously as the well-meaning professor helped her to stand and then proceeded to lead her to the makeshift infirmary in the Great Hall. Madam Pomfrey tended to her wounds and deemed her unharmed enough not to need to spend a night under medical care. Minerva supported Hermione, as she was too weak and heartbroken to stand on her own, and led her to Harry.

He was surveying the damage when they stumbled to a halt beside him. The deed was finally done: Voldemort was dead, along with many of his followers and Harry's friends. Although the world was safe from his wrath, Harry couldn't help the melancholy emotions pushing at him. He felt like locking himself in his room and ignoring everyone.

Minerva held on to Hermione with both hands as Harry looked on startled. A sliver of dread shot down his spine and he very nearly clapped his hands to his ears so as not to hear the news. Upon seeing Harry, Hermione shot out of the professor's arms with surprising quickness and into her friend's embrace.

"Ron's dead!" she wailed, fresh tears cascading down her face.

Shock rendered Harry motionless. Then grief as severe as his friend's claimed him and brought him to his knees. He dragged Hermione with him and there they both sat, clinging to each other as agony washed their countenances. Professor McGonagall looked on for a moment, sharing their pain, before returning to her search of more fallen alliances.

Hermione paused in her walk to look in the window of a shop. A hunter green dress was displayed on a mannequin; she tilted her head to the side and studied it. Capped sleeves, scooped neckline, and hem were all lined with light green lace. She admired it for long moments before moving on.

She veered from the path and entered the store, deciding she would check out the price and go from there. After ascertaining that the dress was indeed beyond her budget, she browsed the clothes, finding a few articles to try on. She headed to the dressing rooms that were positioned in the back of the store, sectioned away from everything else.

She was in the midst of pulling a blue and green cotton dress over her head when a voice she hadn't heard in years floated to her.

"You've dragged me to this muggle store. That is enough for me. I refuse to hold your things while you lower yourself even more by trying their clothing on."

Forgetting where she was and what she was currently doing, Hermione opened the door to her dressing room and stepped out. She immediately saw a young man with shockingly blond hair and icy blue-grey eyes. He leaned against the wall with his arms folded on his chest. Hair hung in his face and she had the oddest urge to brush it back.

He was studying the floor while she stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. Shock was the primary emotion that flooded her veins. Here, where she was most certain no reminder of the past could reach her, was a pretty large memory inducer.

The blond looked up lazily, spotted her, and froze. They stared at each other for several moments before she regained herself and spoke.

"Malfoy." It came out broken although she had worked for her voice to be steady.

He continued to study her, noticing with chagrin that the dress she was wearing hugged every minute curve of her body. She had transformed over the years into a greatly attractive woman. Her once bushy and unruly hair now hung down her back and shoulders in soft, controlled waves. Her very presence seemed to have changed; she was no longer the know-it-all, eager to outdo everyone. Her personality had cooled, whether due to the final battle or something else, he did not know.

"Granger." His voice was as cool and collected as she remembered it always being.

He still considered himself better than everyone around him, she noted from his stance. Although it had diminished some, whether from the loss of his parents, the time that had passed, or something else, she was unsure. His hair was longer than he had worn it during their adolescence. His eyes were still just as piercing but maybe less ridiculing. A growth spurt had hit him sometime since the last time she saw him; he now stood at six foot or taller. He wore a black t-shirt and khakis, no robe hiding his body. Muscles had taken over his arms and seemingly every inch of him.

Hermione had long ago gotten over the animosity they had harbored for Malfoy over the course of their schooling. After leaving the apartment she shared with Harry over three years ago, she realized that other than name-calling, she herself had nothing against Malfoy. It was mostly Harry and Ron who loathed the Slytherin Prince.

She had distanced herself from Harry and everyone else in the Wizarding world who reminded her of Ron. Three years previous was the last time she had spoken with Harry. That conversation consisted of her laying out very clearly her decision of moving to a new town and relinquishing all contact with the magical families she had grown accustomed to during her adolescence. He was reluctant to once again lose a best friend, but knew better than to argue with her. So two years to the day after Ron was killed, the vestiges of the Golden Trio split, heading their separate ways.

"You look well," she offered.

He inclined his head. "As do you."

She fiddled with the tag of the dress and glanced down, just now realizing she had dashed from the changing room not in her own clothes, but those belonging to the store. She let go of the price tag and raised her head, catching Malfoy raking his eyes along her figure. When he reached her face and noticed her watching him, his countenance grew arrogant and cold. _That's the Slytherin I know_, she thought wearily.

"So how have you been these few years?" she asked, trying to keep the somewhat congenial Malfoy at the surface. She did not have the patience to deal with a spoiled brat at the moment.

"Fine, I suppose. And yourself?"

"Better with each passing day," she answered, surprising herself with the easy manner she had given him that information.

Even more shocking, his features let go of its condescension and grew softer.

"It's been rather hard for myself getting over that night," he said quietly.

Her eyes dropped to the floor as she remembered coming across his body, cold and lifeless and unforgiving. She blinked back tears when her memory ran across the times they had shared together. That was all she had left of him and although she cherished them, she had moved on and created a life for herself.

She no longer cried herself to sleep every night, wishing it had been her instead. She no longer pored over tomes searching for an answer to her question of creating some sort of everlasting likeness of him. She had gone on plenty of dates that ended in the same way, her crying on the floor of her bedroom, before she admitted defeat and gave up all hope of finding someone else.

"But a little easier every year," she added.

He nodded in agreement. Just then, a dressing room door opened and a grown-up Pansy Parkinson emerged, arms laden down with clothes. She stopped in her tracks as her eyes landed on Hermione. They narrowed and shot to Draco, assessing how he was reacting to her presence. When she saw that he was perfectly congenial, she dropped every feeling of bitterness and turned to her with a smile.

"Hello Hermione. Adorable store isn't it?" she asked.

Hermione blinked at Pansy's behavior and watched silently as she dumped one armload of clothes into those of the awaiting Malfoy. As she passed Hermione to return unwanted clothes and search for more, she paused and placed a hand on her arm.

"You look great," she said with a smile and then was off in the racks of clothing.

Hermione stood there in shock, staring after her. Malfoy chuckled quietly and caught her attention.

"She really never was one to harbor ill will towards anybody. She merely followed my example."

Hermione nodded absently as she mulled that over. So Pansy was a pleasant person. Who would have guessed?

She glanced at the price tag on the sleeve and raised her eyebrows. There was no way she was paying that much for a dress.

"Too expensive for your tastes, Granger?" Malfoy teased.

She looked up at him.

"Just the same as ever, I see," she said, smiling as she returned to her dressing room.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked, placing Pansy's clothing on a chair and coming to stand outside her door.

"Oh, nothing, really," was her muffled reply.

Draco stood there, confusion clearly coloring his features.

"Just that you're still the pretentious prat you've always been," she explained as she returned the dress to its hanger.

Caressing the material between her fingers, she pondered over purchasing it. _He had certainly liked it_, she thought as the memory of his eyes raking over her figure sheer moments ago flashed through her mind. Hermione placed the dress beside her own clothes before trying on a blouse and skirt.

She stepped from the stall, nearly hitting Malfoy with the door. She immediately pulled it back, biting her lip.

"Oh! I'm incredibly sorry," she said. "I didn't know you were standing there."

His gaze was drawn to her teeth grazing her lip. In addition, when she stepped fully from behind the door, he couldn't help but to appreciate her choice of body-hugging clothing. As Hermione turned to gaze at her reflection, he studied her.

Although he had never felt any acrimony towards Granger alone, the hostility he felt for Potter and Weasley had spread to cover her as well. However, he was beginning to see that maybe, away from their presence and influence, she could actually be tolerated.

"That looks good on you; you should buy it," he said, watching her reaction.

She halted in mid-turn, shocked. Her eyes met his in the mirror and they gazed at each other. His eyes held deep suffering that she knew hers echoed. They both knew hurt beyond their years due to the Final Battle.

She nodded hesitantly. "Perhaps."

Her gaze was drawn to the dress in the window. But if she were going to splurge on anything, it was going to be that stunning green dress. The longer she looked at it, the more intense was her desire to have it. All she had to do was save up her money from her teaching job and in a few years, it could be hers.

She moved her gaze back to her reflection in dejection. A few years. Yes, that's how long it would take. Not mere weeks or even months, but years. She sighed and turned to head to the stall. She pulled on the last outfit and exited the room, anxious to hear what Malfoy had to say about it.

As she gazed at her reflection and tugged at the blouse, Malfoy kept his eyes firmly on her jean-clad legs. Although they were smooth and flawless, he found them more appealing covered by clothing. It added a sense of mystery, for at the moment one could not safely say what her long legs looked like besides their shape.

He noticed that she had forgone wearing her heels with the jeans; her red toes peeked from the long hem of the pants legs. She raised one foot onto its toes to see how the fabric moved with her legs and judged with satisfaction that the price was well within her reach. Smiling, she moved to inspect the blouse. Deeming it another smart buy, she turned around and faced Malfoy. Spreading her arms, she silently asked his assessment.

He pursed his lips and pretended to look her over without interest. But inside his head, thoughts about how brilliant she looked took over and refused to be dislodged. He nodded.

"It suits you and looks great in the process."

She smiled demurely and shut herself in the dressing room, leaning against the door. Catching her breath and wondering why she felt this way with Malfoy and not any of the men she had dated, she stood there for several moments. Finally pushing away from the door, she stripped and pulled her own blouse and skirt on, slipping her feet into her heels.

She gathered the rejected clothing in one arm while carrying her soon-to-be purchases in the other. Halting outside the dressing stalls, Hermione smiled at Malfoy.

"It was a pleasure running into you," she said, surprised that it actually was.

"I share the sentiment," he replied, also shocked that it was true.

She bit her lip and said the words that meant probably never seeing him again. "Well, I must be off. Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy."

He watched her bite her plump lip and uttered the words that meant never seeing her again. "Goodbye, Miss Granger. Have a pleasant day."

She smiled and left to return the clothing she couldn't afford. He watched her run into Pansy and exchange a few words before continuing. After hanging the clothing on their respective racks, Granger went to pay for her purchases and soon left the store. Outside the window, she paused to gaze at the dress once again. Sighing, she shook her head and walked on out of Draco's sight.

Pansy returned within minutes carrying more clothes to try on.

"She's rather charming, isn't she?" she asked as she emerged half an hour later from the dressing room carrying more clothes.

Draco nodded absently and held out his arm to take her choices. She noticed immediately that he wasn't with her but instead in his own head. She smiled and hummed quietly as they made their way to the counter and Draco paid for her things.

---------------

Months passed in which Hermione found herself thinking about Malfoy. Whether he was wondering about her or if he had cast her from his mind the moment she left the store, she did not know.

She was sitting in her apartment's television room when she felt the urge to go on a walk. Slipping on flats, she brushed her fingers through her hair and headed out the door. At first deciding to walk around the park, she ventured in that direction; passing the very store she had run into Malfoy at long ago.

She paused at the window, once again admiring the green dress. Her budget still kept her from purchasing it and she was about to go on when she noticed something. A blond head that stood at least half a foot above the rest near the entrance to the dressing rooms.

Malfoy leaned against the wall much as he had when they met before. However, this time he was holding stacks of women's clothing. She hurried into the store and, collecting herself, walked calmly past racks of clothing to reach him.

"Why hello," she said, causing him to turn his head in her direction.

His face smoothed from a half-formed scowl into an easy smile. Upon hearing the dulcet tones of a woman's greeting, he was preparing himself to fend off yet another over eager admirer. However, when he saw it was Granger, he immediately relaxed.

"Hello to yourself," he replied pleasantly. "Fancy meeting you here again."

"Not that surprising; I live close by," she said amiably. "But what is rather shocking is running into you here. A muggle woman's clothing store, of all places."

He sighed and shook his head. "Abominable, I agree. However, Pansy adores this shack as well as dragging me here every chance she gets."

"This place is far from being a slum. Some of the prices here are ridiculous."

"Just because you're not able to afford them, doesn't make them absurd," he said with a joking smile.

Although he had just insulted her, she couldn't help the answering smile that spread across her features.

"Oh, contraire. Many a people who believe the prices here are preposterous are able to afford them," she countered.

His eyebrow rose and he looked at her amused. "I've yet to come across them, then."

"Naturally those who shop here aren't going to be of that opinion. I suggest you go to a shop farther down the street."

"Now why would I do such a thing when I'm not even remotely interested in what they have to say?"

"Perhaps to gain some insight of the minds of the 'common' people you seem to be so disdainful of."

He laughed, soft and low. It caught her unawares and sent her overactive mind into a flutter of activity. She had never heard him laugh except in scorn and bitterness during their adolescent years. Hermione stared at him and wondered when he had changed. When _she_ had changed.

"Draco, did I hand you that blue—" Pansy cut herself off when she rounded the corner and spotted them.

"Hermione!" she exclaimed. "How lovely it is to see you again. You look amazing, no shock there."

That she did. Half her brown curls were pinned to her head while the other was free to cascade around her shoulders. She wore a dark purple dress that hugged her torso and grew looser to flow around her knees attractively. Black flats matched the purse hung on her shoulder as well as the wide belt that screamed at one to notice her narrow waist. Very little make-up accentuated just how radiant her natural beauty was.

This time Hermione had expected to see her and answered in kind.

"Thank you, Pansy. You look wonderful as well."

Pansy had lost everything that had once made her the object of scorn and ridicule of every pretty girl at Hogwarts. She was tall, thin, and had lustrous black hair that hung down her back. Her eyes shone with how much she enjoyed her life these years compared to her adolescence.

"The blue blouse or dress?" Malfoy asked her.

"The blouse," Pansy replied, holding out her hand to retrieve it from him.

With a smile at Hermione, she turned and pranced back to the dressing rooms.

"How often does she shop here?" she asked him.

"Every two weeks at the least."

Hermione's brain worked through a possible scenario that would give her endless satisfaction. She just had to wait for the right moment.

"And do you always accompany her?"

He sighed. "Of course. She needs someone to hold her things and give her a second opinion if she ever needs it. Which she never does," he added.

Hermione chuckled and nodded to herself. Getting closer but not there yet.

"Afterwards, we usually go to that little coffee shop down the street," he said, making her brighten on the inside.

"Is that what you're planning on today?" she asked coyly.

"Perhaps. If she doesn't feel up to more shopping."

Granger nodded and he wondered why the sudden interest in their plans. He didn't have to ponder long for it became evident when she spoke next.

"Instead of being subjected to the rudeness of the baristas, how about joining me at my place for lunch?" she asked. She hoped he would accept and take the hint that next time it was his turn to ask her.

"That would be lovely. I'm sure Pansy would agree to it as well," he replied.

The sable-haired woman in mention waltzed from the rooms and sighed dramatically.

"Aside from three outfits, the rest are atrocious. I'm beginning to suspect that this store is running out of good clothing," she announced, taking clothes from Malfoy and giving him the ones she planned to purchase.

"How does joining Miss Granger here for lunch at her place sound?" he asked her.

Pansy turned to face Hermione, beaming. "Oh! That would be delightful."

Hermione smiled. "Wonderful. Whenever you're finished here."

"Right now! Just as soon as I return these and we pay. Draco go do that while I stick these clothes somewhere," she ordered before flitting off.

Malfoy sighed, long and suffering, and headed to the counter. Hermione smiled and followed him.

"Do you pay for her things every time?" she asked.

"Oh, no, I never pay for her things. We come here so frequently that the employees know to put it on her account."

She nodded and stood to the side as he placed the clothing on the counter. As the cashier added the new purchases to Pansy's account, Draco turned to Granger. She was busy admiring the same green dress as before. He studied her, noticing the way the fabric of her dress flowed around her knees even when she stood motionless, the shine in her hair as the light reflected, the dulled twinkle in her eyes.

He wondered if she was still dealing with that fateful night or, like him, she had moved on. His father had been killed, his mother had fled to somewhere safe, and Draco had been named the head of Malfoy Manor. He couldn't have been happier.

Then Granger had shown up and for the past few months, he had been bombarded with thoughts of her. In everything he did, there she was. Silently asking his opinion, biting her lip, admiring that green dress in the window.

"You finished, Draco?" Pansy asked, coming to a halt beside Granger.

He nodded, gathering the bags and heading for the door. Granger and Pansy followed him, talking about the best stores in the area. He tuned the words out and focused on Granger's voice.

Soon she took the lead, announcing that her place was just around the corner. Pansy joined her in the front and left Draco to tag along behind them. Granger smiled back at him and then returned to her conversation. How was it possible that with one mere smile he grew less irritated at being in the rear? He was a Malfoy; Malfoys did not, under any circumstance, follow. They were leaders.

He sighed and adjusted the bags in his grip, wishing not for the first time that Pansy would grow tired of muggle clothes shopping. At least when they were surrounded by wizards, he could levitate the many purchases she acquired. Here, among muggles, he had to manually lug them around. However, he couldn't be too bitter; it was due to her fascination that he had met Granger.

The trio rounded the corner and walked half a block to Granger's apartment. Smiling, she rummaged in her purse for the keys while Pansy and Malfoy looked around them. They had not been down that way and Draco was immensely glad that they hadn't. It was obviously a muggle area and he could practically feel his magic being drained by the sheer intensity of them.

Granger opened the door and stepped in, flicking the light switch. Light fell from an ornamented half-globe light fixture. It captured Draco's attention and he stood there staring at it while the women moved to the kitchen. Distracted, he slowly set the bags of clothing by the door and followed them.

Hermione found she enjoyed Pansy's lively personality and wondered why she had let house animosity keep them from forming a friendship.

"This is a cute little place," Pansy remarked, gazing around as Hermione poured the three of them tea.

"Thanks; I got it from this old gentleman across the street. I wanted to rent it but he offered such a great deal to buy it, I couldn't pass."

She handed Malfoy a mug and tilted her head as she watched him absently take it while he scrutinized the appliances. She gestured to the table that had not seen anyone but herself.

"Please, take a seat," she said, following her own request.

Malfoy and Pansy sat across from her and sipped at their tea. He continued looking around and Hermione began to suspect that it was not up to his standards. After all, he was a Malfoy and Malfoys received the best of everything. Nothing less of grand was allowed within their vicinity.

"How long have you been living here?" Pansy asked.

"About two years now. It was meant to be a temporary thing, but plans failed and I decided to stick around."

Pansy gave a sympathetic moue and glanced at Malfoy. He was too busy admiring the microwave to notice the lull in conversation as the two stared at him. His eyes roamed over Hermione in his quest to find something remotely familiar and realized that she was gazing at him. He cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. After taking a sip of tea, he spoke for the first time since leaving the store.

"Still close with Potter?" he asked.

No anger or bitterness laced the name and Hermione was faintly surprised. She assumed he continued to harbor their rivalry from school. Placing her mug on the table, she shook her head slowly.

"No, I haven't spoken with him in three years. Truthfully, I've been trying to forget him" she answered.

Confused, Malfoy asked, "Why? You were the closest group of friends in that entire castle."

Hermione shrugged and wished she hadn't brought it up. There was just something about him that made her want to talk.

"So what do you do?" she asked, changing the subject.

Malfoy studied her and appeared to realize what had upset her. Pansy, on the other hand, looked on confused as he answered.

"I took over my father's post in the Ministry. It isn't a glamorous occupation, but the respect is favorable."

"But wouldn't everyone treat you deplorably; seeing as your father was a Deatheater?"

He shook his head. "Not at all. If anything, it enhances their view of me. You see, they remain in fear that the Dark Lord will return somehow. It's something I work in my favor."

Hermione nodded yet didn't understand the mentality he had. If it were she, she would be ashamed that her name was associated with that creature. However, that just showed he was still the arrogant, attention-seeking Malfoy she had known all those years ago.

"What about you? You're not in the magical community, what could you possibly do among the muggles?" he asked.

Hermione wrapped her hands around the mug. "I'm a literature teacher at the local high school."

Seeing their identical expressions of confusion, she laughed softly to herself.

"Sorry, I forgot you don't know much about the muggle world. I teach the class how to write papers. To use correct grammar and sentence structure," she explained.

"If you want to deal with whining children everyday, why don't you teach at Hogwarts?" Malfoy asked.

Hermione was briefly thrown into her memories upon hearing that word. She was standing just outside the Great Doors, waiting for Harry to finish speaking with Professor McGonagall. Her arms were wrapped around her torso, both warding off the chill and holding her heart together. Her sanity threatened to crack as well and there was little she could do to stop it. They had lowered the casket in the ground earlier that morning. To her, it felt as if she were beside him in that grave. She knew she would never get over his death and the fact it was her fault. If she had just been watching her back, he would not have had to intercept the curse.

Tears ran down her face, not having run out since the funeral. The wind was still and the sun shone brightly. It was the wrong weather for his burial. She wanted clouds to roll in and cover the sky, rain to pour from them in deluges, the wind to blow wildly and whip her hair painfully against her face. She loathed the sun, daring to shine on the saddest day of her life.

Months later, she lay in her bed trying to muffle her sobbing so as not to alert Harry. He heard anyway, despite her precautions. He quietly entered her room and looked on for a moment before going to sit by her side. He rubbed her back while she bit her lip to stop the tears.

"Let it out, Hermione," he whispered.

She looked up at him, seeing a blurred outline of his head, and let the tears run their course. Harry held her and, while he didn't cry, he felt the same sorrow she did. The sun rose and peeked through the window to find the two friends barely hanging on.

"Hermione?" Malfoy asked.

She blinked and saw her guests peering at her curiously. She shook her head and looked down into her tea.

"Sorry," she said, "Got distracted for a moment."

She raised her head and plastered a smile to her face. "There isn't a class like literature at Hogwarts."

It pained her to say that word; she had been avoiding everything magical for years. Her wand was wrapped in a cloth that she had stored in a box under her bed the moment she had purchased a place. She hadn't touched it since the year after Ron's death.

"What do you do, Pansy?" she asked.

She opened her mouth to answer but Malfoy spoke for her.

"She shops, gets her hair done, and shops."

"No profession?"

She shook her head. "No, I have enough galleons to last me a few lifetimes. No need to waste time working when I can be shopping."

Catching the digital numbers on the microwave, she gasped and shot to her feet. Hermione gazed at her as she bent to place a kiss to Malfoy's cheek.

"I really must go; I have an appointment at The Boutique. The owner said she would hold a certain dress for only so long before she sold it to another buyer."

She left the kitchen and headed to the door, Hermione following. She snatched her bags and opened the door before turning to Hermione.

"You have a lovely place. I hope we'll see each other soon. Bye!" she rushed.

Pansy dashed from the door and skipped down the steps, hitting the sidewalk at a jog. Hermione looked after her for a moment and then slowly closed the door. This meant she and Malfoy were alone. In her apartment.

Taking deep breaths, she headed back to the kitchen. Malfoy was sitting in the same chair he had been earlier; he turned to her when she entered. She gave a hesitant smile, suddenly nervous.

"Care to move to the sitting room?" she asked.

"Sure."

Draco stood, and followed her, noticing the way she walked. She didn't seem to realize she swayed her hips, or that her curls bounced lightly, or her feet barely made a sound on the floor. By the time he entered the room and took a seat neat to Granger, his mind was in all the inappropriate places. Both because he was pureblood and she was muggleborn as well as the fact they had talked only twice. Yet, he couldn't find it in himself to care about either.

She crossed her legs and tucked the ends of her dress under herself. It was an interesting motion.

"So you have the entire Malfoy Manor to yourself?" she asked.

"No, the house elves have half of the place. I've no need for that much space."

Hermione tilted her head and studied him. He wasn't the heartless prat he had once been. Whether anything else had changed, she was sure she would find out.

"I'm not the spoiled prick I was years ago," he said, correctly assuming what she had been thinking.

He looked around the room, noting magic had not been used there.

"Is there a reason you don't use magic?" he asked bluntly.

Startled, she jumped slightly. "I have no use for it here. Besides, the muggles would notice sooner or later."

He nodded, meeting her eyes. Hermione changed the subject and successively kept Malfoy from any touchy topics for the entirety of their conversation. They spoke amiably about the best places to eat, the worst employees at the green dress store, and numerous other things. They completely forgot Hermione had offered lunch in her invitation, instead watching television and commenting on the absurdity of it all.

Draco was surprised that he could he relax relatively easily in a muggle community and in the presence of a muggleborn. He watched her as she gazed at the television. Hermione noticed and turned to face him, planning to call him on it. When she met his eyes, however, every thought fled from her mind and she was left bare. She noted how the grey of his eyes was less cold and softer. Images flitted through her head and she tried to push them away; they were wholly inappropriate and unacceptable.

Malfoy sighed and got to his feet, straightening his clothing. He looked down at Hermione and smiled briefly.

"I must be getting on my way. If I'm gone too long, the house elves will come looking for me," he added, grimacing.

She stood as well and led him to the door. They paused in front of it, not knowing how to part. Awkwardly, Hermione opened the door and stood to the side as Malfoy exited. He halted on the doorstep and faced her.

"Would you like to get a cup of tea with me tomorrow?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'd like that."

He smiled briefly and glanced down. Feeling light-headed, she held on to the door for support. He raised his eyes and held hers for a moment before reaching out and placing his hand lightly on her arm.

"I'll see you then," he said softly.

He smiled and descended the steps, hitting the concrete at a brisk walk. Hermione closed the door and leaned against it, catching her breath. She closed her eyes, sliding to the floor and pulling her knees to her chest as tears slipped from her lashes.

---------------

A swipe of mascara. A pat of blush. A dab of perfume.

Light illuminated the natural pink of her lips and served as argument to leave them nude. Deep brown eyes stared at the mirror, betraying none of the sadness inside. Shiny brown curls cascaded down her shoulders and back, caramel highlights running through them. Sparkles danced off the diamonds around her neck and the pearl drop earrings nearly hidden by her hair.

The tears poked and prodded at her barrier, searching for a weak spot. After moments of inspecting her reflection, they broke through. Her careful composure broke and the pent-up sorrow washed her face.

"I can't do this," Hermione whispered, dropping her face to her hands.

Five years later and still Ron haunted her. His ghost lurked in every corner that held possible happiness for her, preventing the growth of every relationship. She had hoped this one would be different.

Draco and she had a fantastic time a week previous. They had talked and laughed over tea and scones before taking a walk through the park. She had figured if they kept it light and friendly for a while, Ron would remain quiet. Due to this, she had refused to even touch Draco beyond holding his hand. But even that didn't stop her imagination from running rampant. Nor did it fool Ron; he showed up the moment she closed the door to Draco.

He followed her as she attempted to ignore him, wiping down the kitchen, straightening the television room, dusting the bedroom, and scrubbing the bathroom. He watched as she flitted from room to room, cleaned every inch of her apartment, finally collapsed under the grief, and cried herself to sleep in a corner. When she awoke, he was nowhere to be seen and she dared to hope he had left for good.

However, when Draco dropped by to change their plans from a casual dinner to a more elegant setting two days later, Ron returned. He was her constant companion as students filed through her door day after day. She both eagerly awaited and dreaded Saturday night. As her week trudged on, she found herself growing more and more nervous.

And here it was, the moment of truth. Her happiness rode on her decision of whether she wiped her face and went or told Draco she couldn't go when he arrived. Staring at her tear and mascara streaked face, Hermione resolved she would attempt to leave Ron at her apartment and enjoy herself for once. She inhaled deeply, pushed her hair from her face, and wiped a wet washcloth across her eyes.

Five minutes after reapplying her make-up, Draco announced his arrival with two sharp knocks. Hermione's eyes closed and she leaned forward, supporting herself on the counter.

"I can't do this," she whispered, shaking her head. "What was I thinking?"

Draco knocked again, wondering what was keeping her.

"I'm coming," she said softly. Then as she left the bathroom and grabbed her purse, she said more loudly, "Hold on, I'm coming."

Draco halted upon hearing her voice and stood there patiently. He had been waiting a week for this; what was a few more seconds? He had originally asked her to a simple dinner, but changed his mind a day later. He had envisioned her sophisticated and stunning in a fitted cloak. Then he remembered her abandonment of everything magical and reluctantly changed his vision to a floor length, high-cut, black dress.

He could picture the way it would move with her, hugging her curves. The skin its slit and low neckline would show off. How her curls would bounce when she walked. The sparkle in her eyes when he set his hands low on her hips and pulled her to him. The radiant glow on her face as he tilted her chin up and gently pressed his lips to hers. The soft flutter of her eyelashes as they drifted close. The feel of her soft, full lips moving against his.

He had rushed to her place, fervently hoping she was home. He was floored when she answered the door with her hair pulled back and tendrils framing her face. He hastily composed himself and posed his change of plans. Not realizing he craved to continue gazing at her, she wished him a good evening and slowly closed the door. He stood there a moment more and then headed to a discreet place to apparate.

His co-workers at the Ministry were complaining about muggles when he arrived the next day. He listened quietly as they switched to muggleborns, joking about their lack of anything worth something. He became increasingly irritated at their insulting banter and ruined letter after letter by dripping ink on them continuously. After half a dozen wasted parchments, Draco forcefully jammed his quill in the inkpot, knocking it over. Cursing, he siphoned up the ink with his wand. He left the office in a cold huff, causing the others to stare after him curiously. It fueled the rest of the day's conversation, each adding their comments of Malfoy regressing to his former adolescent self.

Draco strode through his manor, beginning to wonder if they had a point. His entire life, his father and everyone else had drilled it into his head that muggles and muggleborns were worthless. That they were the scum of society and deserved the leftovers of the wealthy.

He paused in front of the portrait of his grandfather. He was currently asleep, sparing Draco further torment. Was he making a major mistake in taking Hermione to Le Gavroche? Was he disgracing the Malfoy name by simply associating himself with a muggleborn? He paced back and forth past the portrait, agonizing himself with memories of his father insulting every body that was not of pure blood. Would it be better to cancel their date and keep the Malfoys' good name untainted or meet with Hermione and perhaps have the time of his life? He decided he would go on one more date and if it wasn't the single best night he had had, he would never see her again.

When the door opened, Draco could not stop his eyes from swiftly raking over her form. She wore a close fitting sapphire dress that flared to a stop just above her knees. Diamonds hung from her ears, draped over her collarbone, and silver dangles clinked on her wrist. The silver bag on her shoulder matched the heels on her feet. Her hair was free to curl around her shoulders. He saved her face for last, knowing he wouldn't see anything else afterwards.

Her pink lips were left to their natural color without any additions. The brown of her irises appeared darker and richer framed by her thick lashes. Her cheeks were lightly dusted pink, making it appear she was softly blushing. Her lips spread in a smile, showing off her teeth.

As he gazed at her, Hermione studied him. Draco wore a black jacket and slacks, the dark green shirt serving as homage to Slytherin. He wore no tie, instead going for the casual-elegant look. His hair, hanging partially in his face, shone in the light and his eyes seemed to dance with excitement. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back serving to make him appear older, more in charge of the world. No jewelry adorned the black expanse of his clothes; unlike the father he had once looked up to.

"Hello Draco," Hermione said.

"Hello Hermione," he replied.

Casting her gaze downwards, she stepped from her apartment, closing the door. Draco descended the steps backwards, not wanting to remove his eyes from her. When she raised her eyes, they had walked down an alley behind a tiny hair shop. Draco stared at her, willing the right words to flow from his mouth.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"A hidden place; somewhere we won't be seen."

Her mind immediately veered to the worst—and best—reason he would be doing that. Just as the words left his lips, Draco imagined different scenarios that involved the brick alley wall. Grimacing, he amended himself.

"Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was a place where we won't be seen by muggles when we apparate."

Hermione felt herself slipping from Draco. She hadn't apparated since the time she and Ron had left the Burrow and went for a walk down Diagon Alley. They snuck from their rooms early in the morning and met in the yard to leave. Instead of apparating separately, they decided to side-along apparate, holding each other close as they squeezed through space. It was one of the last few times they had shared alone before that night.

"Why can't we simply walk?" she asked.

She did not want to apparate. Especially with him. It would feel like betraying Ron.

"If you want to walk every mile to London, then be my guest. I, however, shall be apparating."

"London?" Hermione asked.

Draco nodded. "If you don't feel confident in your abilities, then you can tag along with me," he offered.

She looked up at him. His eyes held no mocking malice; they were simply concerned that she might splinch herself. Sighing she held out her arm. Draco ignored it and slipped his arm securely around her waist, pulling her to his chest.

"Why hello," he said softly.

Her heart picked up as she gazed into those bright eyes of his.

"Hello to yourself," she responded.

He smiled and glanced around them, checking for any spectators. When he found none, they were off, being sucked through a straw to London. Hermione had not forgotten what apparating felt like, but she had failed to recall just how disorientated one could be afterwards. She gripped Draco's biceps as she regained her wits.

Draco watched in a mixture of amusement and concern, waiting for her to loosen her fingers. Her eyes were squeezed shut and this allowed him time to appreciate her beauty in a different way. She had no idea that Draco was staring at her as such and continued to breathe through her mouth. After several moments, she opened her eyes to find him severely close.

Her breathing picked up as she met his eyes. They were dark and the pupil had dilated. She had no trouble discerning what he was thinking; it matched the thoughts half of her mind was whispering. The other half screamed that Ron wouldn't appreciate her behavior. That he didn't approve of Malfoy and she should demand he take her home.

Hermione smiled at Draco and his lip twitched before he backed away.

Extending his arm he said, "We must be on our way if we want to make the reservations."

She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and he covered it with his own. His skin was warm and served to chase away some of the chill Ron had left within her. Her hand was soft and Draco couldn't resist rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.

They walked in silence the half block to Le Gavroche, merely enjoying the other's presence. However, when Hermione spotted the restaurant name she pulled to a stop.

"Is something the matter?" Draco asked, worried he had somehow offended her by his choice.

She shook her head as she gazed wide eyed at the restaurant front.

"You're taking me to _Le Gavroche_?" she breathed.

Draco chuckled, taking her hand and gently persuaded her to the entrance.

"Do you have a problem with my choice?"

"Not at all. It's just that, I heard it takes at least a year to get reservations."

"It does. However, I have my connections."

They entered and Hermione was immediately stunned speechless. The walls were a light olive green and paintings and sketches adorned them, as well as numerous light fixtures. The tables were covered with cream and peach tablecloths with a ring of small candles in the center. The ceiling was high and created the atmosphere of being under the sky.

After hearing the name Malfoy, Robert the maître d'hôtel rushed them to the best table in the house, bowing and subserviently offering his service. Hermione watched on, embarrassed for the man, as Draco waved him away, paying no mind.

Once seated, the headwaiter brought out glasses of water, menus, and a wine list. Hermione declined the alcohol and Robert hurriedly removed the list so as not to upset Mr. Malfoy. Watching him scurry away, she spoke to Draco.

"Is this the manner in which all people treat you?"

Confused, he asked what she meant.

"Servile, as if you're their superior in every way."

"I am their superior," Draco stated, not seeing what she was getting at.

Sighing, Hermione draped a napkin across her lap.

"You're simply the customer and he the employee, yet he acts as if you're his master or something."

Draco smiled when he realized what she was speaking about.

"My father was a widely known man; even among the muggles. When they hear the Malfoy name, they remember him and automatically revert to the way they treated him. Those who know me as simply Draco are not nearly as obsequious."

Hermione nodded and sipped her water. Robert returned and took their orders, nodding and commenting on how wonderful those particular dishes were. He flitted to the kitchen as Draco leaned forward, holding Hermione's eye.

"You are absolutely stunning," he remarked.

She blushed, causing Draco to decide then and there that he would continue seeing Hermione Granger, the muggleborn, whether it disgraced the family name or not.

When they left the restaurant and it was time to return to her apartment, Hermione didn't hesitate to embrace Draco. Taken aback by her sudden willingness to touch him, he froze for a moment. But before she noticed, he had wrapped his arms around her back and held her close, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her hair.

They had argued playfully whether Robert should be set straight or allowed to submissively continue. They had decided if he dropped to Draco's feet in worship, then they would comment. Hermione was having too grand a time to realize that if she had been with anyone else, she would have demanded he stop Robert's behavior. But as it was, she ignored Robert for the most part and focused on Draco's hand holding hers.

Ron had stayed at the apartment and she was free to enjoy herself. Draco had likewise shed the demons shadowing him for one night, wanting to fully appreciate Hermione being with him. For the first time, they had been truly alone.

It was there, standing in his arms, that she promised herself Ron would not ruin their relationship. She raised her head to gaze at Draco, smiling softly. He returned it and brought one hand up to rest under her chin. Her heart stuttered for a second as she realized what he had in mind.

He stroked her cheek as he leaned down, her head reaching up. Tentatively, their lips brushed, sending shivers down Draco's spine and goose bumps along Hermione's arms. Her eyes closed slowly and it was times better than his visualization. Their lips moved in tandem and he watched as her cheeks became flushed. It became too much for him and he broke away, smiling down at her.

"Ready to go home?" he asked, realizing too late that he had implied he considered her place his own.

She paid no mind and snuggled into his chest, shielding her face.

"Ready," she said.

The moment the word left her lips, they were shoved through a tunnel roughly the size for a rodent. When she could breathe again, Hermione raised her head to smile at Draco. They were at the top of the steps leading to her apartment. The moon shone brilliantly, illuminating his hair and skin, causing it to shimmer softly. His eyes glowed in his face and she couldn't look away. She leaned up to kiss his cheek, lingering and not wishing to back away.

"Good night, Draco," she whispered against his skin, her breath turning his arms to gooseflesh. She took a step back, colliding with her door.

"Sweet dreams, Hermione," he replied softly.

She smiled up at him as she twisted the doorknob and slipped into her apartment. She kept her eyes locked with his as she reluctantly shut it. When it served as a barrier between them, she rushed to the window to watch him leave. He had seen the curtain twitch and smirked to himself as he veered down an alley.

Hermione let the curtain drop and headed to the bathroom to undress. Ron watched as she removed her make-up, placed her jewelry on the counter, and brushed her hair. As she moved to her bedroom, she hummed the same sad tune she had on the day she met Draco at the store. Her sapphire dress slid to the floor and she didn't bother retrieving it. The tears weren't coming that night; she had cried herself out.

She dropped onto her bed, not caring she was in her knickers or that her room was too cool to not be beneath the blankets. She curled onto her side and stared at the wall as she thought back over their date.

She had worried that he would realize she would disgrace his family name and never wish to see her again. However, her anxieties were put to rest when he told her he would stop by sometime during the week to inform her of their next plans. She had nothing to worry about, she reasoned, for Draco seemed to be as interested about her as she was with him.

Ron hovered over her, accusing. He was outraged she would lower herself by associating with the arrogant prick of their adolescence. She ignored him for the most part but couldn't help the pang of her heart as she was condemned. She rolled onto her back and pressed a pillow over her face. It served to soak up the tears she thought she had run out of.

As he strode through his bedroom door, Draco fought the absurd urge to whistle. He was floating on the high of Hermione's kiss. With a thought, his clothes disappeared, hanging themselves neatly in his closet. He sank onto his large, intricate bed, pulling himself to the exact middle and clasping his hands behind his head. He sighed happily as he stared at the ceiling.

True to his earlier proviso to himself, he would continue seeing Hermione. Even the most unlikely source, Robert the maître d'hôtel, had supplied nearly an hour of conversation. She wasn't like every other woman he had dated. She wasn't after his Gringotts' contents, she didn't crave the power his name would give her, and she had more in mind than his body. He briefly contemplated that she was the real deal before snorting and rolling to his stomach.

No matter how he felt for her, it wouldn't change the fact that she was Granger, a muggleborn. His eyes drifted close and his breathing steadied. However, she was Hermione and had kissed him so sweetly a mere hour ago.

---------------

"Who can tell me from what writer this quote comes from? _Books are like imprisoned souls till someone takes them down from a shelf and frees them._"

Emma's hand was in the air before Hermione had even finished the question. The girl reminded her a lot of herself at that age.

"Yes, Emma."

"Samuel Butler."

Hermione nodded. "Very good. Now, how about—"

She was interrupted by the bell signaling the end of yet another day. She glanced at the clock surprised; she hadn't realized the hour had passed so quickly. The students, however, had been aware of it for the past half hour, willing the hands to move quicker.

"For homework! Read chapter five in Ethan Frome," she called after the escaping students.

Shaking her head, Hermione slid from her desktop to pack her briefcase. Her back was turned to the door when someone knocked. Assuming it was Emma, who had on more than one occasion returned to ask some sort of question, she half formed the girl's name on her lips before she saw whom it actually was.

Draco stood in the doorway of the classroom, smirking at her astonished expression. He took a step forward, waiting for her to invite him in. She blinked and regained function of her brain.

"Please," she gestured, "Come in."

He inclined his head and fully entered her classroom, casting a glance around.

"How did you know—" She couldn't finish her question; she was still flustered.

"Where you worked?" he filled in. She nodded. He lowered his voice with his answer, "I'm a wizard; I have my ways."

She pursed her lips. "Should have figured."

He was within a foot of her now.

"I was surprised when you didn't."

He closed the remaining distance and tugged her closer by her waist.

"Why hello," she whispered.

"Hello to yourself," he replied, his breath sending chills down her spine.

They met in the middle and tilted their heads in opposite directions to get impossibly closer.

They had been officially dating for five months the day previous. Although they rebelled against everything Draco had grown up with and Hermione had endured, they were surprisingly close. Regardless of their happiness and thriving despite the odds, Hermione was still plagued by her betrayal of Ron. No, she had not vowed to him that she wouldn't date and eventually marry. However, she stood by the notion she disgraced his memory by being with another man, let alone Draco Malfoy.

Ron never dared to intrude upon their dates, but he was there when she returned home. He was there as she taught her classes. And he was there when she had lunch with Pansy, discussing that taboo topic of Draco. Ron seemed to respect that there was another man in her life now. Nevertheless, Hermione couldn't forget him and give herself entirely to Draco.

On one tiresome night of dancing, Draco twirling her all over the dance floor, he didn't have the energy to apparate and Hermione didn't have the heart to force him, raising the chance of splinching. Therefore, she offered her apartment to him for the night.

He slept on the couch in clothes he magicked and made her breakfast the following morning. Of course, he didn't tell her he had cheated and used magic; he let her believe he had made it the muggle way. As if. He was a Malfoy, after all; dating her had not changed that.

Draco weaved his fingers through her hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it was. Hermione gripped the front of his shirt, holding him to her. A wolf whistle broke their blissful moment and had Draco whirling to face the doorway, reaching for his wand. Hermione halted his arm and sent him a look. _This is a muggle high school_, it said, _don't you dare._

"Whoa! Miss Granger!" Daniel, quite possibly her worst student, exclaimed.

He and his friend Rupert slapped palms and left as quickly as they had appeared, cackling down the hallway. Hermione sighed and placed papers in her briefcase. High school students, especially the boys, were unbelievably immature; it sometimes made her wonder why she had not chosen to teach eight-year-olds.

"That was wholly unacceptable," Draco fumed, still staring after the boys.

"Yes, well, that's teenagers for you," she replied.

She snapped the clasps closed and it seemed to vivify him from his anger. He smiled at her and followed her from the building, his hand on her back.

"Any particular reason you dropped by?" she asked.

"I just wished to see you," he answered, placing a kiss to her head.

Closing her eyes, she smiled. Even with Ron haunting her, she was happy. Most of the time. When she was alone with her thoughts, though, the grief would take over and she couldn't control the tears. They poured from her eyes and served as yet another symbol that she wouldn't be able to live a normal life.

Draco's eyes were slate as he gazed down at her. Shivers slid down her spine and visions danced in her mind. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he reached for her briefcase.

"Here, let me take this for you," he said, switching it to his right hand and returning his other to her waist.

"I am perfectly capable of carrying my own things," she protested. "I've been doing it for years before you showed up."

"I know, Hermione. I simply wanted to free your hand so I could do this."

He tugged her to a halt and spun her into his chest. Smiling, he asked, "Any objections?"

"Not at all."

In the middle of the sidewalk, with people streaming past them on either side, he pressed his lips to hers. His large hand splayed on her lower back, serving to keep her firmly against him. Her fingers toyed with the hair on his neck as her breathing grew ragged. When she couldn't take it anymore, and yet yearned for more, she broke away, gasping. His gorgeous grey eyes shone as he gazed down at her. They began their way to her apartment, stopping every half block to share a kiss and sharing a kiss every time they had to stop.

As she did every time she passed the store, Hermione gazed longingly at the hunter green dress in the window. A few more months' pay and it would be hers. As long as they didn't get rid of it. Draco watched her face light up briefly and then fall the next moment. As they walked by, he glanced at the price and realized she was dejected because she couldn't afford it.

They lounged on her couch and watched television curled around each other before Hermione made them dinner. Two hours shy of midnight, Draco reluctantly announced he needed to return to the Manor. She followed him to the door and after sharing a drawn-out good night, stood on the step watching him go.

She headed to her room to get ready for bed when she felt a pull, tugging her to the space under her bed. She knew what lay in wait there; she just didn't know what was attracting her. Was it the fact her boyfriend lived in the magical world; the one she had left years ago? The one she had vowed to never enter again.

Or was it because she had for too long ignored her heritage? She may have muggles for parents, but magic ran through her veins. She wasn't a pureblood, but she was just as much a witch as they.

Crouching next to her bed, Hermione lifted the blankets and groped blindly for the box. When her fingers brushed the smooth wood, she snatched them back, holding them to her chest. Breathing through her mouth, she slowly reached for it again. Although she didn't pull back this time, she did hesitate. Sitting on the floor, she drew the box to rest in front of her. She stared at it, willing it to disappear and take her memories with it.

However, still it sat there, waiting for her to gather her courage and pry open the lid. Some time later, she inhaled deeply and opened the creaking top with trembling hands. Peering inside, she saw the same royal purple cloth she had locked away years ago.

Tears gathered in her eyes as she timidly picked up the weighted cloth and held it in her hands. She gazed at it until the purple grew hazy and she imagined that she pictured patterns moving across its surface. She unwrapped the cloth slowly, afraid of what she would see when it was peeled away.

Drops of sorrow fell from her eyes and landed on the cloth as it fell away, revealing her vine wood wand. Several drops colored the wood before she moved it out of her grief's way. Her throat constricting, she rubbed her thumb along the groove at the base. Sobs broke from her throat and her fingers tightened around her wand.

She hadn't laid eyes on it since she landed on the notion of leaving everything she held dear. She hadn't thought she had the heart to say goodbye to those who had stood by her side for so long. It had taken a year for her to muster her strength and leave them.

Swallowing her tears for a moment to concentrate, she flicked her wand. The purple cloth jumped in the air and folded before tucking itself in the wooden box. Hermione smiled slightly to herself and stood. For the next few hours, she roamed around her apartment, casting magic. By the time she fell into bed, the sun was breaking over the horizon.

Draco woke early, the sun barely lighting the sky, to go shopping. Then he was going to spend the day with Hermione. It was the perfect date. Just being with her and getting to witness the way her face would light up. He whistled to himself as he dressed the muggle way.

Hermione currently didn't use magic and hadn't used it in years. She had confessed to him the reason behind it one night when he had stayed at her place. It was the day after she had adamantly refused to even visit his Manor.

They had sat on the floor of her bedroom, her head resting on his chest as she recounted her experiences. It had been a month and still it haunted him the way her voice rang hollowly. As if she had no desire to continue living; no reason good enough for her to stay. Not even him.

He pulled a turtleneck over his head, folding the fabric down. The November chill had gotten worse and he decided he had best wear a jacket as well. As he straightened his lapels, he began concentrating on the appearance of the alley near Hermione's apartment. He swirled through time and space only to barely miss landing in a puddle of some unknown substance. Scowling, he left the dank darkness and headed to the very store he attributed his happiness to.

Not surprising, it had to yet to open to customers and he had to wait. The longer he stood there like a muggle, the angrier he became. He was a Malfoy. Malfoys didn't wait, people waited on them. The few muggles who were out so early on a Saturday morning took one glance at him and gave him space. They were justly frightened by the furious, towering man. He was raving mad; there was nothing that could calm him.

By the time the owner unlocked the entrance, Draco was beyond seeing red. Everything in his vision was dim and hazy, clouded over with irritation. The woman squeaked in both fear and surprise when he practically lunged at the door. He glared at her, blaming his hour wait on her. She had been here before him; she could have let him enter if no one else.

"M-May I he-help you, sir?" she stuttered, slowly backing away from him.

"Yes you may." His words were ice, sharp as daggers.

The woman whimpered as she nodded. "Wh-What did you have in mind?"

He gestured at the mannequin in the window, causing the woman to flinch at the sudden movement.

"I would like that dress."

The proprietor's eyes grew wide and fearful. He smirked; it was nice to know he still possessed the ability to frighten people. He had begun to wonder if Hermione had sucked it from him.

"The dress isn't for sale," she said timidly.

Draco's face went even colder. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

The woman quickly moved behind the counter, fearing he would harm her. If that was his wish, no mere counter could bar him.

"There is a price tag," he pointed out.

"M-Merely for show."

She looked up at him apprehensively, worrying if he was going to strike her or set fire to her store. He stepped away from her, removing his jacket and folding it over his arm, and walked slowly between the racks.

"What is the name of your store?" he asked, still blazing mad but no longer appearing so.

Tense, with her knuckles white on the counter, the owner watched him.

"The Green Dress."

Draco laughed abruptly, one shocking peal of cruelty, and turned to her.

"And what is your name?" He cared not, but knew acting that he did would help ensure she did what he wanted.

"Jillian," she didn't hesitate in answering.

She didn't want this strange, frightening man knowing her name but knew better than to lie to him. He was cold, powerful and would have no trouble in killing her.

"Well, Jillian, I have a proposal."

He continued walking through her merchandise, making sure he never actually touched anything.

"How much would you be willing to take for the dress?"

Stunned he was wishing to purchase a mere model, she didn't respond. In the silence, he paused to look at her. His eyes were hard as flint and anger colored his countenance. Draco glared at her; he was not going to repeat himself.

"It-It's not for sale."

He drew closer to her and smirked when she shrank away; he was half the store length away from her and yet she still worried. It was a tiny store but gave them enough room to have their own space. He reached into his pocket, sending Jillian into a panic. She had no idea what he was doing, but envisioned numerous scenarios that involved her being tortured and then killed.

She released her breath when he pulled out a roll of muggle currency. He strode to the counter and dropped it. She stared at the roll; she had never seen that much money in her life. Her eyes flicked to him. Why was he willing to pay so much for her mascot?

"It's not even a real dress," she told him.

Draco froze, ice chilling his veins. "Pardon?"

"The fabric is coarse material, the seams aren't genuine, and the back is simply held together by Velcro."

Draco grew even more furious. He had stood outside the store, watching this woman stand at the counter for an hour and all for nothing?

"Fine, another proposal," he said through half clenched teeth. "Make a dress in that exact color and style. The finest material, toughest seams, and an actual back."

The woman stared at him. Was she incompetent, having trouble following the conversation?

"I-I can't do that."

"Take this as a deposit and I'll pay you again when the dress is finished."

He slowly slipped one arm and then the other in his jacket, heading to the door. Before he left, he turned back.

"Good day to you, Jillian."

Her mouth open, she watched him leave. She gazed at the roll of money he had left. And he would pay her again when he received the dress. She would make his dress; she had no other choice.

Furious yet satisfied, Draco walked briskly to Hermione's place. About to knock on her door, he realized how daft he was. It was barely eight in the morning; she wouldn't be awake just yet. Returning his hand to the warmth of his pocket, he descended the steps and struck out in the direction of the park.

He started out sitting on a bench but grew too chilled from the lack of motion. Scowling, he pushed himself from the hard bench and walked along the path. He passed few people, mostly runners and dog walkers. For two hours, he pointlessly strode among muggles, periodically warming his hands with magic. Finally, at a time he figured Hermione would be awake, he hurried to her.

After knocking numerous times and receiving no answer, he turned to leave. At the bottom of the steps as he moved onto the sidewalk, he heard the door open behind him.

"Draco," Hermione said, surprised to see him.

She still wore yesterday's blouse and slacks, her make-up was smeared across her eyes, and her normally smooth hair looked as it had during Hogwarts, frizzy and slightly bushy. She obviously hadn't been expecting him. He skipped half the steps as he leaped to her.

"I thought I'd drop by," he explained.

He took her in his arms, pressing a kiss to her lips. She rested her head on his chest, noticing just how much more comfortable than her pillow he was. He started to pull away and she made a small noise of protest.

"Hermione?" he asked.

"Hmm."

He chuckled and deftly scooped her up.

"What time did you get to bed?" he asked as he carried her to the bedroom.

He placed her gently on top of her blankets, set his jacket at the foot, and arranged her pillows before sitting next to her. She immediately made his chest her pillow and curled up against him.

"I don't know," she murmured.

"Pardon?" Draco had no clue what she was referring to.

"Don't know when I…went t'bed," she clarified groggily, slipping from him.

"Go to sleep, Hermione. I'll be here when you awake," he said softly.

Her breathing slowed and he felt her heart beating steadily against his abdomen. Running his fingers through her hair, he snagged on tangles and tenderly combed them out. As she slept, he gazed around her room, noting the differences since the time he had last seen it.

A box sat to the side of the bed and Draco wondered what it was holding. The outside of it was stained lightly and decorated with elaborately carved flowers and vines. It was devoid of color except for the splash of purple peeking from a corner. As he peered at it, he realized it was a piece of cloth. What purpose did it serve?

His gaze was inexplicably drawn to the dresser next to the door. How he managed to miss it, he would never know. But there it lay; the very thing she had vowed to never use again. Her wand. He hadn't seen it since the time Greyback took it from her all those years ago. He didn't know how she accomplished stealing it back from him.

The years he had spent insulting "The Golden Trio" flashed in his mind. He had never looked at her and saw anything other than the know-it-all mudblood who thought herself so much brighter than everyone else. His father and every wizard of respectable background frowned upon those who were of mixed blood or had slightly altered views than theirs. He had blindly followed their example, treating the unworthy like the trash he believed they were.

He hadn't changed completely; he still had no respect for muggles, but he didn't go out of his way to humiliate them. He saw them as the necessary bottom to society. They were definitely not the base or foundation to it, by no means, but neither were they the scum-sucking bottom-dwellers he once saw them as.

When he looked at Hermione now, he saw his future. Their future. How astounding his views could change so drastically in such a short amount of time. If, as a student, a seer had told him he would fall for Granger, he would have gotten his father to kill the imbecile. How absurd was a pureblood and mudblood relationship. Downright hilarious if he thought about it.

But there he was, staring down at her, knowing he wouldn't change anything about it. She appeared serene and free of the troubles that he knew plagued her. He smiled; he would never admit it, but he adored the way her lashes curved against her cheek. The way her soft hand wrapped around his. The sparkle in her chocolate eyes when she forgot the past and focused on the present. The way she would chew on her pens while grading the teenagers' work. She ruined package after package of those muggle inkwells.

Draco was stunned to hear that although she dealt with children everyday, she didn't want her own. At least until she was in a place that could tolerate a screaming baby. She explained that she had her fill of children at work and it left no desire for her to have one at home. He didn't know whether this news was good or a foreshadowing to the end of the Malfoy line.

Draco knew he would never find another quite like Hermione. As well as the fact that he would never degrade himself by persuading a muggle by any other means besides fear for anyone else. Malfoys did not waste their time and money on those of unimportance. But Hermione would be so disappointed to find out the dress she desired was a simple mascot for the store; that it wasn't even a genuine dress.

She stirred on his chest and he stilled his hand. Her eyes blinked open, guarding themselves against light. However, there was barely any for them to worry about. The day had grown cloudy and her curtains blocked what little light broke through the clouds. She raised her head to smile sleepily at Draco.

"Why hello," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

"Hello to yourself," she replied.

She sat up, yawning, and he watched her with quickly softening eyes. He adored her.

Giving her no time to react, he rolled over, pinning her to the bed. She looked at him curiously excited. Her heart sped up and the fog of sleep promptly dissipated. His eyes were close to her own and she had no problem detecting the varying shades of blue and grey.

She tilted her chin to reach his mouth and kept her eyes open as their lips synchronized. Not expecting him to move away, her head followed his, keeping their lips connected a few seconds more. Draco chuckled, sending vibrations into her where his chest touched hers.

"Guess what," he whispered, eyes actually twinkling. She hadn't seen him that excited; it served to send her already pounding heart into more of a frenzy.

"What?" she breathed.

He smiled as he answered. "I love you."

There, he had finally said the words.

Hermione's breathing halted and she stared at him. He couldn't be serious.

"I—Draco…" She didn't know how to say it. How to not say the words back.

He placed a finger over her lips.

"Shush. You don't have to say it back. I know what you went through and what you're going through. It's fine, Hermione."

She stared sadly up at him and pressed her lips to his. Tears gathered behind her closed eyelids and she wondered how he had reached the point he was at currently.

---------------

Every two weeks for two months, Draco checked in with Jillian. While he was civil and hadn't let her witness his temper again, she still cowered whenever in his presence. For the first two visits of his, she only had disappointing news for him. She was having trouble finding a soft hunter green fabric. Then it was the time it would take to create the dress. Which was a few weeks minimum.

Draco didn't care, as long as she finished before February. He wanted to see Hermione in it on Valentine's. Unlike the traditional red or pink outfits worn, he knew the deep green of the dress would compliment her better. It also served to show respect to Slytherin. He found it amusing that a former Gryffindor would willingly wear the Slytherin color. He would see if he could persuade her to accessorize with silver.

Just when he started losing the last vestiges of his patience with Jillian, she had it waiting for him when he showed up. She lifted the lid of the white garment box as he watched on anxiously. He slowly removed the dress from the box, caressing the material.

"It will be gorgeous on her," he said to himself.

Jillian visibly relaxed and marveled at the transformation he underwent. His eyes grew soft and she nearly believed he had the capacity to love. The next second, however, his face became guarded again and she scolded herself. Of course a man of his countenance couldn't truly love someone; he was cold, arrogant, proud. Even if he did care for another, how could one love him?

"Wrap it up," he demanded.

She swiftly complied and Draco was on his way to Hermione's.

She was currently scrubbing her kitchen cabinets, humming, while the dishes magically washed themselves. For the past couple months, she had been occasionally using magic in her everyday chores. It served to give her more time with Draco, which served to fuel the guilt she couldn't get rid of.

The sorrow-filled song she was humming and had been humming for years was the theme song to her grief. It had been the background music in her head ever since that day. For the first dozen times she heard it afterwards, it made the tears run in torrents. But she soon came to cherish it, for it was the song played at Ron's funeral.

He still hung around, though he had significantly lowered the number of times he showed up. He continued to disapprove of her dating Malfoy, but he slowly succumbed to the fact they weren't splitting ways anytime soon.

Hermione no longer randomly burst into tears because of his disapproval. She had gradually come to terms with the fact she deserved to be happy. She wanted nothing but to be with Draco; and if she was to continue seeing him, she knew she had to change. She couldn't be lying in Draco's arms mourning the loss of Ron. It wasn't fair to either of them. They deserved a chance at their relationship.

Therefore, she worked relentlessly to rid herself of everything standing in their way. She had succeeded in removing only a few of the barriers that needed to be destroyed. Although, she had to admit, they were the bigger obstacles of hers.

Two sharp knocks announced the spontaneous arrival of Draco. She dropped her sponge and headed to the door, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears, pondering whether she should let her hair down. Draco's impatient knocking, however, demanded immediate attention, giving her no time. She jerked open the door, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Why hello," he chuckled, happy with her reaction to his surprise visit.

"Hello to yourself," she responded, brushing her lips to his tantalizingly, making him want more.

She dragged him in, taking his jacket. He headed to the television room, holding her close to his side. He sat, pulling her onto his lap and she wrapped her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair. He reached into his pocket, removing a small white box. She stared at it with interest and felt the butterflies bumping into the walls of her stomach increase. When she unwound her arms, he placed it in her hand, smiling broadly. It grew from the size of a jewelry box to that of roughly two feet.

"What—Why—"

"Just open it," he gently interrupted.

She glanced at him as her fingers danced nimbly along the crease, lifting the lid. Draco avidly watched her face light up radiantly as she extracted the garment. Her eyes melted and her lips turned up in a tender smile.

"Oh, Draco," she breathed.

The color was a deep, rich hunter green. The material was unquestioningly the softest, smoothest she had ever felt. The capped sleeves were trimmed with thin lace. The scooped neckline was also embellished with the lace as well as the hem. The waist was slightly cinched, tapering from the slightly wider bodice.

Hermione held it up, marveling at the thoughtfulness of Draco. He had realized she wanted the dress. She couldn't have wished for a better boyfriend. Moreover, it wasn't just the gift she cherished. It was him.

Everything he did, he did for her or with her in mind. He was by no means a different person from the Malfoy she had known at Hogwarts. But he was a changed Malfoy. He no longer went out of his way to torment those under him. He still grew angry and irritated over the tiniest details, but he was working on reining it in. However, he constantly complained that there was no point and that he didn't understand why he should waste his time controlling it.

She knew that even if she were to search the corners of the world, she would never find someone quite like Draco.

He had for years been her enemy and now he was her boyfriend. And if she allowed it, much more. But she would never know if she didn't take a chance. No matter what, Ron would always be with her. Could she have enough room for two? As she gazed down at Draco, she realized she could.

She bent her head so when she breathed, her breath ghosted over his lips. But before she mashed their lips together, she had to say something.

"I love you, too, Draco."

His eyes blazed and he pulled her roughly to him, the gift box falling forgotten to the floor. Hermione knew Ron would never truly leave her, but she hoped he would decrease his visits to every few years. She wanted to create a life with Draco. Only Draco. She had once wanted to spend her life with Ron, but that possibility had been taken from her. But if it hadn't, she wouldn't be sitting on Draco's lap, anxiously awaiting their life together.

Draco shifted Hermione from his lap to the couch. As he hovered over her, he smiled softly.

"Why hello," she said, pulling his mouth to hers.

"Hello to yourself."

* * *

**This is completely different from what I had in mind at the beginning. It was going to be much happier and lighter but Ron wanted his share and wouldn't be denied. He continued being this obstacle to the couple and at one point almost got his way. But Draco and Hermione got together in the end. So all's well that ends well.  
****Anyways, it started out that the dress would serve to bring Hermione to see that Draco wasn't the same heartless dick he was at Hogwarts. However, it twisted and morphed into her battling her demons. I think I rather like it this way better. The other was possibly **_**too**_** cheery.  
****Comments on whether I should have left it happy? Well, happier than what it is, for she does overcome her grief in the end. Leave me some sort of feedback.  
****I know this basically had no plot. Except for the dress and the sorrow. Other than that, it was simply a collection of angst and fluff. I know, I know. However, I like it as it is. If this were a story, they would have had other difficulties. Ones that actually added to the plot.**


End file.
